Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (16 page)

“What? No, that wasn't part of the deal –”

“I stand by what I said. And you know, just a fair warning, it probably will not be in your best interest to change the locks on me.” Ivanka sighed, twirling a lock of her hair around her fingers lazily. “Now, are you just going to stand there?”

Ivanka began to smear the whipped cream all over her left nipple. She scooped up a dollop with her fingertip and turned it over, beckoning me towards her. Even with blinding anger seizing every part of my body, the sight of her slapping her clit tauntingly was enough to pull me in.

I stood at the end of the sofa, crouching next to Ivanka. She wiggled her finger into my mouth, swirling the cream all over my tongue. As soon as she drew her finger back, I bent over and mashed her tits together, slurping her nipple hungrily. Rage and my irrepressible lust for Ivanka's undeniably sweet little cunt took over my body, fueling my every move.

I wanted to wreck that pretty pussy, milking cum out of her until the swollen lips of her cunt were physically aching and she could cum no more, and nothing was going to stop –

The door swung open behind us.

“Kingsley? You left your front door un...”

Carrie stood in the doorway, looking more stunningly beautiful than I'd ever seen her. She was all dressed up in a fancy red gown that exposed her shoulders and her sleek right leg from the slit down the side. Her shiny red lips popped open, trembling as if she was mouthing all the thoughts that must have flooded into her head all at once. The makeup on her face remained intact, but her face seemed to crack. Even the bun on the back of her head seemed to sag the longer she gaped at us.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Ivanka's wicked smile unfurling from one ear to the other.

“I guess dinner's off then, huh?”

“Wait, Carrie –”

Carrie yanked off her earrings and stormed off, leaving the door hanging wide open behind her.

Chapter Twenty:
Kingsley

I finished off my 4
^th
beer of the night, staring vacantly through the foggy haze in my living room. The sounds of laughter and playful roughhousing from the dozen or so people in my apartment drifted farther away. The reek of liquor, kush, and Lightweight Tate's throw up in the bathroom were making my eyes water, but I couldn't be fucked to move from my spot at the moment. Even the stripper shaking her bare titties just 5 feet away from me wasn't enough to pull me out of my stupor.

Instead, I reached into the cooler Hines brought over and cracked another bottle open. Hopefully, with just a few more of these bad boys, I'd be able to keep the dismayed look on Carrie's face from plaguing my thoughts every couple of minutes.

“Bro, you look beat the fuck up.”

Louie's rapper cousin, Beasley, AKA Beastly, plopped down into the sofa next to me. He leaned in, a little too close for comfort, the fake ass bling on his neck nearly costing me my vision. The dude moonlighted as a dealer, and he had a reputation for selling you the best product, having tested out each and every one of them himself. That said, Beastly was always on something. He scratched the back of his ear obsessively, looking at me wildly with his permanently dilated eyes. I inched away from him, nodding.

“What's up, Beastly?”

“I'm good, bro, but let's talk about you, sitting over here in the corner lookin' like you just got stood up by your prom date. But fear not, 'cause Dr. Beastly always got the hook up.” Beastly reached into one of the many pockets in his coat and pulled out a fat brown blunt. He flourished his fingers with every word like he was talking over a beat. “This one's on the house. I promise, a few hits of that and whatever's ailing you will ail you no more.”

“Naw, man, I'm good with these beers. I haven't smoked since freshman year of college. 'Sides, you know we get tested all the time.”

“Oh, I feel you, playa. I got your back. Got some shit that won't leave a trace but still give you that
oomph
, know what I'm saying? But I gotta hit up one of my suppliers first to see about that –”

“Thanks, bro, but no thanks.”

“You sure?” Beastly pressed on, his eyes bugging out. “I mean, when I say I got everything, I mean that shit. My clients are some of the craziest motherfuckers out there. Got a dude that's asked for everything – even Krokodil.”

“Beastly, I said –”

“And I mean, even I wouldn't test that shit out, know what I mean? Paid an arm and a leg for that shit, too – and I mean he literally lost his arm and leg because of it, no bull. And this valley girl, too, real cute, innocent little thing, but she gets these little doses of arsenic from me. Buys in cash so there's no paper trail. Some dude must have really pissed this chick off–”

“Yo, King. Wanna chill in the balcony for a bit?”

Odell appeared behind me, exchanging looks with me. I nodded at him gratefully, jumping to my feet. Beastly didn't miss a beat, continuing his story to Tate's girlfriend, who was sitting next to him.

Odell and I slipped into the balcony with our beers in hand. He closed the sliding door, sealing out the pumping tunes and chatter from the party. We slumped into our seats, propping our feet up on the edge of the recliners.

“So, you wanna tell me what's going on? You've been all mopey for 2 days straight.”

I sighed, taking a sip from my bottle as I gazed out into the muted lighting of the 1AM skyline.

“I screwed up real bad and I don't know how to fix it.”

Odell took a sip of his beer, cocking one eyebrow as he waited for me to elaborate.

“I feel like I haven't screwed up this bad since – you know. Carrie and I were seeing each other for a couple of weeks. I stopped fucking with every other girl on my contact list – except Ivanka. I was tired as balls after my shoot with Rhinestone when I got a message from her. Carrie sent me a message too, and I didn't see it, messed up and told her to meet me up at my place. We made plans to go out that night, and it completely slipped my mind. Long story short, Carrie walked in on me and Ivanka.”

“Holy shit, King.” Odell lowered his bottle, his face darkening. “I don't know how I'd ever be able to keep up with all that drama in my life. How do you keep getting yourself caught up in all this shit? Can't say I feel sorry about Ivanka – that's all on you, man. But to do this to Carrie? She's a real nice girl –”

“I know,” I snapped, kneading the pulsing vein in my forehead. “I really like Carrie. Fuck if I know why, but I actually give a shit about this girl. But you don't even know how insane Ivanka is man. You think Farrah's crazy, she's not even –”

Louie slid the door open violently, his face weirdly pale and scrunched up in confusion.

“Guys, get in here. Now. You need to see this.”

When Odell and I followed Louie through the door, the living room was chillingly silent. Everyone was gathered around the sofa, even Sapphire, who crossed her arms over her tits and had her clasped over her mouth in horror. The only noise cutting through the heavy silence was the droning of the reporter from the TV.

“
Breaking news – we bring our hottest story of the year – a story of greed, betrayal, and underground crime. An anonymous tipster has sounded the alarms on the one and only Kingsley Kelly of Detroit Daggers fame. Did Kingsley Kelly intentionally throw the semifinals against Kansas City in 2012? Tune in tomorrow at 10 AM EST to find out.
”

Chapter Twenty-One:
Carrie

This was the life.

I wiggled my toes, burying them deeper into the sand. The grainy substance caressed the spaces between my toes and the soles of my feet. I inched forward, gripping the hem of my swing bed to keep it from swaying. With the salty ocean breeze whipping my hair rhythmically against my cheeks, I marveled at the perfect picture of paradise before me.

The orange rays of the setting sun were bathed in violet, dragging the night across the clear skies. The sparkling surface of the glassy ocean was so clear it mirrored the skies overhead. Along with the therapeutic sounds of crashing waves and squawking seagulls, I could hear upbeat, peppy Caribbean music playing in the distance. Any unpleasant glare or unwanted gifts from the birds roaming the skies were deemed impossible by the pair of coconut trees holding up my airy mattress.

When the clouds swallowed up the last of the sun, I picked up my coconut and swung my legs back onto the swing bed. I dug into the fleshy lining of the coconut, scooping spoonfuls of the sweet white fruit into my mouth. As the wind rocked the swing bed gently from side to side, I snuggled up against the pyramid of bolster pillows behind me and scarfed up the coconut. The only thing on the agenda today was to enjoy myself, and I could think of nothing more liberating.

“Can I refresh that coconut for you, Ms. Toussaint?”

A beefy, topless waiter with a sarong wrapped around his waist appeared at my side. The hunk carried a 3-tiered tray over one shoulder. He was a walking buffet of sliced fruits, fluffy cakes, and double-glazed pastries, crying out for me to sink my teeth into each and every one of them.

“I'm still working on this one, but I'll take some coconut rum with pineapple juice. Oh, and you can leave those goodies with me, too.”

“Which part would you like –”

“All of it.”

“Of course.” He set the tray down next to me. “Before I fetch that drink for you, would you care for a foot rub?”

“That sounds ah-mazing. Yes, please.”

I lowered my coconut, relaxed against my pillows once more, and sealed my eyes shut. The waiter crouched down by the foot of the swing bed, taking my feet in his strong hands. He began rubbing up and down on my feet, pulling back on each toe with satisfying pops. His fingers kneading into the soles of my feet felt even better with the grains of sand still clinging onto my skin.

“I've never seen your face around here. First time?”

“Yup,” I sighed wistfully, opening my eyes again. I reached for a maple doughnut hole and popped it into my mouth. “Wish I could stay forever.”

“That's what they all say.”

“I bet.”

My eyelids were about to sag shut again when the waiter's neck snapped towards me abruptly.

“You're not supposed to be here.”

“I – wh-what?”

He tossed my feet aside and bounded to his feet, towering over me. I stared at him, my face puckering in confusion as he began prodding at my right leg with 3 of his fingers. He moved in a strange, childlike manner and was mouthing something, but all I could hear were the crashing waves and the same damn seagulls circling above us. I yanked my leg away from him, finding it more irritating than it was painful.

“What are you –”

There was a whoosh of wind next to my ears, and the waves and seagulls went silent.

“Aunt Carrie. Aunt Carrie, wake up.”

I groaned, blinking as Jackson's face appeared over mine. He looked flustered, his flushed cheeks trembling and his fingers cold. But when he saw that I was awake, his brows relaxed in relief.

“What's wrong?” I rasped. Rubbing my throat, I removed the cords of my earphones around my neck and paused the 10 hours of “Calming Ocean Sounds” I'd downloaded onto my phone.

“Kingsley is on the TV. I don't understand what they're saying about him, but I know it's bad. You have to make them stop!”

“What are you talking about, Jackson? I'm sure it's nothing –”

“Please, Aunt Carrie.” Jackson broke away from me, racing out the door. “Come on!”

I pulled myself to my feet and trotted after him.

XXX

“I didn't know you had it in you.”

Wattana lifted the skinny tube of her cigarette holder to her grandma-blue lips. She leaned out the open window of her office, blowing out through the side of her mouth. Everything about Wattana looked oddly cheerful today, from the matching blue pantsuit to the top hat bobby pin clipped to her bangs. It looked like she, too, was suffering from the clear epidemic of cutesy miniature accessories spreading around the office, infected by its primary host, Evelyn.

But the strangest part about this seemingly twilight-zone-esque setting was that I seemed to be the source of Wattana's bizarre giddiness.

“Thank you, I guess? But I'm not sure what you mean –”

“I'm guessing you've heard the rumors about Kingsley Kelly by now?” Wattana lowered her lashes, weighed down by heavy blue mascara. That, on top of her super rich eye shadow, made her look like she'd been punched in each eye by a smurf.

“Yes, it was all over the –”

“It's okay. You can drop the act. I've figured it out.” Wattana took another drag from her cigarette, still simpering. “All the news agencies cited an anonymous source, with one revealing that said source was a young, disgruntled woman. It was you, wasn't it?”

My jaw plunged along with my gut.

“What – of course not – what are you –”